Chapter Three Bennett
| Three |
Bennett
Bennett Bryson hurried to the elevator, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone.
The last thing he wanted was to make small talk with some aspiring author who’d later try to hit him up for a blurb.
That was one of the reasons he never came to these things.
That and the fact that these conferences tended to be nothing more than a boozefest with everyone clamoring to increase their social status by befriending an author more successful than themselves.
But this book had to kill it. Marion had twisted his arm, virtually forcing him to come.
He recalled their conversation right after she’d finished reading the manuscript.
“It’s great! Even better than Promise.”
He’d heaved a sigh of relief until he heard what she had to say next.
“But it’s time to get out there again. After the last few books, the quality of this book won’t be enough. Not at first. The publisher wants to send you on an aggressive tour.”
“No.”
“Bennett. Seriously!”
“I have to get down to work on the next book. Are you forgetting you talked me into signing a two-book deal with a deadline coming up in six months?”
“No, but—”
“I’ll do appearances the first week. But after that, sorry, back to work.”
She sighed. “There is a way we can drum up a ton of sales with just one stop.”
That was when she’d pitched the conference. So here he was. The things he did for his career! Marion had also set up an offsite appearance where five hundred people had bought tickets. That was this afternoon and he was dreading it.
He escaped to his suite, thankfully avoiding any conference attendees.
Walking to the windows, he opened the curtains and looked out at the city before him, thinking how he already missed his nearly fourteen acres in Bedford, New York, where the air was clean and he could go days without seeing another soul.
He hadn’t always been a loner. He’d been a husband, but that had ended tragically with nothing more to show for it than a gold band.
Poppy had captivated him from the moment he’d met her, and the spell had never been broken.
She’d been so different from the others.
Eleven months of marital bliss, and then she was gone.
He glanced at the Cartier watch on his wrist. His afternoon talk began soon.
They wanted him there half an hour ahead of time, but that was absurd.
He’d get there five minutes before. Marion would already be there, making sure everything was set up.
He sat down and scrolled through emails on his phone before finally changing into a fresh shirt and pants.
He assessed his image in the mirror. He looked damn good.
Time to get his head in the game. He couldn’t let his fans see that this was the last place he wanted to be.
He practiced his smile. The one that made him look grateful, amiable, then rolled his eyes.
You can do this, he thought. Turning from the mirror he sighed and left the suite.
It was a short walk to the venue, and he silently rehearsed his opening remarks.
Before he even got off the escalator, he saw Marion, standing, waiting for his arrival.
“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” she said. After ten years working together, they had an easy rapport.
He arched an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I’m here at all. I should be home writing.”
She looped an arm through his, steering him toward the makeshift stage, where two chairs were set up.
A young woman sat in one of them. Bennett didn’t recognize her.
She was clad in a bright red leather miniskirt, black boots up to her thighs, and a black Aerosmith T-shirt.
The auditorium was full, and there were even people standing in the back.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
Marion’s eyes widened. “You’re joking, right? Lucy Love. She’s only been on the list for the past twenty weeks. Her debut is killing it. I thought it would be great to have you in conversation with her.”
“You know I don’t look at the lists. And she looks about twelve.” This was even worse than he’d imagined. He wasn’t completely honest. Of course he checked his own rankings. But he didn’t bother looking at who else was on the list. He competed against only himself.
“She’s young, but the hottest new name in horror. It wouldn’t hurt you to mix it up with some new blood.”
He groaned. Was forty now considered old? What was happening in the publishing world? “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Marion nodded in the direction of the store manager, who picked up the microphone and began to read Bennett’s impressive biography.
When she was finished, he made his way through the crowd, thunderous applause filling the room.
He smiled as he took his seat, gave a brief nod to Lucy, and grabbed the mic from its stand.
“Thank you, thank you. I’m thrilled to be here.”
The manager returned his smile and began to speak again. “It’s such an honor to have Bennett here for his first appearance in several years! And we’re doubly honored to have Lucy Love, author of the bestselling novel The Echo Is Not Ours, in conversation with him.”
Lucy stood and took a little bow. Kill me now, he thought.
“Without further ado, let’s get into it,” the manager said as she exited the stage.
Lucy turned toward Bennett, bestowing a bright smile on him. “Let me first say, what a huge fan I am! I had to sneak Promise Me Never from my father’s nightstand. I was only fifteen when it came out, and my parents thought it would be too scary for me. But it ignited my love of the genre.”
He fought to keep the contempt from his voice. “I’m delighted that it inspired you.”
“But we’re here to talk about Don’t Ask If She’s Sorry.
I inhaled it!” She looked out at the audience, holding the book up.
“Y’all are going to go crazy for this one!
” She turned back to Bennett. “It has a different vibe from your others, but it’s just as compelling.
It’s not a spoiler to say it’s about a cult of females with a, shall we say, dark hobby of killing bad men.
I tell you, you must be a feminist, Mr. Bryson. ”
He was going to give Marion hell later. This twit was a disaster. He stood up, took a deep breath, and addressed the crowd.
“Well, the book is about murder, not movements.” He paused and waited for a beat.
The crowd burst into laughter. “As many of you are aware, I’m a bit of a nontraditionalist. As much as I appreciate Lucy taking the time to come here, I don’t want to do a disservice to you, my fans, by not talking about what you want to hear.
How would you feel if we dispense with the formal interview, and I take your questions? ”
There was a roar of approval. Bennett turned to Lucy.
“I’d be ever so grateful if you’d call on some folks and repeat the question into the mic.”
It took a moment before her practiced smile slid into place. Bennett saw a look of pure fury in her eyes. After the questions got rolling, he found he was enjoying himself. He’d forgotten how gratifying it could be to engage with his fans.
“I have a question for Lucy,” a woman called out. Bennett couldn’t see who was speaking, and she didn’t stand when the manager handed her the mic.
“I was wondering if you do your own research. I couldn’t help but notice that you attributed a famous line from The Godfather to the wrong character.”
Lucy’s face bloomed with color. She took the microphone from Bennett, gripping it tightly.
“I do. But we all make mistakes. Are you talking about the ‘keep your enemies closer’ line?”
“Yes. You wrote that Vito said it. But it was actually Michael. But then again, you’re so young.”
Bennett smiled to himself. That had boosted his mood considerably. Who was that woman bold enough to jab Lucy? He’d like to shake her hand. “Any more questions for Lucy, or for me?”
The next ten minutes were filled with ones directed at Bennett, and he was relieved when the store manager signaled to let them know they had time for only one more. They wrapped up, and he extended a hand to Lucy.
“Thanks again for coming today.”
“Doesn’t seem like you needed me. I spent a lot of time preparing questions, you know. I don’t appreciate being blindsided like that.”
“You’re a writer. You should be used to a plot twist.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away. Marion was waiting to shepherd him over to the table to sign books. His breath caught in his throat. There was a woman standing next to her. Pale creamy skin. Flaming auburn hair. He couldn’t look away.
“Bennett. This is Savannah, my assistant.”
“Hello,” he managed to get out. He held her hand in his a moment longer than necessary, not wanting to let it go. A feeling of déjà vu overcame him.
She smiled at him. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”
The voice. She was the one who’d asked the question. Intriguing. “The honor’s all mine,” he said. “By the way, great question.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Couldn’t resist. She deserved it.”
Marion cleared her throat. “All right, then. Savannah’s going to assist you with the signing. We’ve already let them know, no personalization, no photos. Only a signature. She’ll make sure everyone complies.”
“Great.”
“Shall we get started?” Savannah asked.
As Savannah guided him toward the signing table, he felt the old thrill of possibility. The same thrill he’d felt when he’d first met Poppy. He didn’t dwell on how that had turned out.